Alternatively, madness
by omfgheatherrr
Summary: In which Evelyn Trevelyan discovers how horse, archery, and precariously inefficient social skills apply to saving the world from endless demons and a darkspawn with a superiority complex. Rating to increase as needed. My glorious return to writing and attempt to capture the inquisitor's emotional response to the game plot. F!Trevelyan x Cullen, eventually.


From her perch atop the tall, sturdy pine she had just climbed, Evelyn Trevelyan had an impressive view of the area surrounding Haven. She raised a gloved hand against her brow, shielding her eyes from the sunlight reflecting off the freshly fallen snow blanketing the valley spread out below her. A brisk gust picked up and she closed her eyes, taking a moment to breathe in reverently. She had always enjoyed the mountains; the smell of pine and wet earth was comforting to her. The mountain chain to the north cradled the valley and imbued a sense of peace and silence that she desperately sought. She had purposely left the ominous view of the breach in the sky out of her line of sight, fixing her eyes on the clear blue horizon in front of her and trying hard to block out the sound of Cullen's troops sparring to the south. She briefly considered the idea of travelling farther out in search of greater serenity, but she had left her bow and arrows back in the Chantry, and knew it would be foolish to venture too far from Haven's protective sanctuary alone. This place would do.

With a huff, she sat against the sturdy trunk of the pine, extending her legs along the branch that was supporting her weight, settled in, and promptly burst into tears.

Her catharsis was heavy and desperate. She allowed her tears to surge down her flushed cheeks unchecked, allowed her emotions to rampage through her like water from an opened floodgate. It had taken all of her strength to bottle the hurricane of insecurity broiling in the pit of her stomach since Cassandra had officially laid out plans to reinstate the Inquisition. She had shaken the Seeker's hand and agreed to help with a smile on her face, but it was faked. It was the smile she reserved for twofaced nobles that social propriety forced her to associate with back home. Evelyn knew she had to help—she would gladly help try to reinstate order—but not like _this_. The "Chosen of Andraste?" Maker's breath. She was just a young woman from Ostwick who preferred the company of horses to people, played around with archery a bit and occasionally stargazed. And now they were expecting her to unite a Thedas in turmoil, fight off hordes of demons, seal a gigantic unholy rip in the sky and save the world?

A sudden shock of icy pain travelled lightning fast from the base of her left palm through her elbow and into her shoulder blade, causing her to cry out and double over in agony, pinning her arm between her legs and her torso as if the pressure would ease the pain. She angrily tore off her glove, staring maliciously at the mark on her hand that was the root cause of all her distress. It looked like glowing green scar tissue, almost like glass melted into her flesh, and extended from the base of her middle finger curving in a slow arc until just above her wrist. She understood very little about it, but reasoned her unchecked emotions may have had something to do with the reaction she just had. Perhaps it was time to face the music, as it were. The war council would probably soon want to start strategizing about what initial steps to take and she needed to be there. Regardless of whether the mark was given to her by the Maker Himself or it was simply bad luck that set her upon this path was irrelevant. She had given her word. She would just treat it like one of her many forced social obligations back home: grin and bear it. Making a fist, she closed her eyes and took deep, dragging breaths, wiping the slowing tears from her face.

Evelyn had never been a woman to run crying from her problems, but then again, she had never faced problems this big before. She drew one last long breath, filling her lungs to capacity, and further rationalized that she would just have to put on her big girl panties and do what she could. After all, she mused solemnly, the entire world was depending on her. What choice did she really have?

Her clear blue eyes were still staring unfixed towards the valley below her when the sound of snow crunching under boots brought her attention away from her thoughts. She turned and glanced down over her shoulder, observing the unmistakable figure of Commander Cullen walking up the opposite side of the slope she had. Unmistakable because… well, that crimson feather boa pauldron/cape combination he had going on really stood out against the snow. She half-grinned, absently noting it also really brought out the golden hue of his hair. His eyes were cast down, skillfully picking out a safe trail up the icy slope, so he thankfully did not notice the disheveled woman hiding in a tree above him. As she continued watching him progress, however, she realized with slight panic that he was heading straight towards her. She did not relish the idea of the commander of the Inquisition's armies finding the poster woman of their cause secreting up a tree like a frightened rodent. She bit her lip and held her breath, praying he would continue past her.

As her luck would have it, despite the vastness of the surrounding valley and the infinite number of trees in it to choose from, Cullen walked straight to the tree she had climbed and stopped right underneath her. He sighed heavily, glancing around once and then bringing up a hand to massage the bridge of his nose. Evelyn was frozen on the branch, unsure of what to do. She thought that perhaps he would move on shortly and never be the wiser, but Cullen shifted and leaned his weight against the trunk of the pine. Realization hit her that the poor man was probably trying to escape the chaos in his head and seek a few moments of solitude, as she was. He just wasn't lunatic enough to climb trees. She decided she would stay quiet and frozen on her perch and allow the man to have his moment of peace without making her presence known.

That is, of course, until she heard Cullen choke back a sob and slowly begin whispering a prayer. "O Maker, hear my cry," he began, his voice wrought with pain. Well, shit. "Guide me through the blackest nights"—She tried very hard to not listen, though she dared not move to cover her ears-"Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked"—This was a very private moment for him, and here she was, stuck on a tree branch impeding on his privacy, and he didn't even know it—"Make me to rest in the warmest places…"-What was she going to do? Which was worse, spying on him during a very vulnerable, private moment or interrupting it?—"My Maker, know my heart, take me from a life of sorrow, lift me from a world of pain..." All right, that was enough. Evelyn cleared her throat as loudly as she could.

Cullen sprung forward from the tree, unconsciously drawing his sword with all the fluidity and confidence of the well-trained warrior that he was. "Who's there?" his voice angrily challenged, his eyes wide and shifting in all directions to find the source of the noise.

"Uh…" Evelyn began timidly, "Just me." She swung her legs over the side of the branch, slipping off and nimbly landing in the snow, her face apologetic and her hands raised in mock surrender.

"Maker's breath, my lady, you nearly gave me a heart attack," Cullen exhaled in relief, replacing his sword in its sheath. He stared suspiciously, his eyes travelling back and forth between the woman that had just materialized out of a tree and the branch above where she had been concealed. "What were you…?" he began.

"I was…taking a personal moment," she sheepishly admitted. "Hiding, so to speak."

"Ah, I see," Cullen replied slowly. "And you were up there for…" Evelyn's embarrassed face and refusal to meet his eyes answered his question before he could finish it. "Right. Well my lady, as I see this spot is already taken, I shall continue on my own journey for solitude and leave you to your peace." He bowed curtly with his head and turned to walk away.

"Commander?" Evelyn called out to him. He stopped and glanced back, and she was suddenly struck by how piercing his hazel eyes were. She wrung her hands together, suddenly feeling like a foolish child. "If you don't mind, it sounded like… Well, it seems we could both use a little friendly company."

Cullen pressed his lips together, considering briefly, before giving her a small smile. "I would be honored, Lady Trevelyan."

"Please, call me Evelyn," she insisted. He gave her a curt nod and she knew that he would not. She beckoned him towards the edge of the rise, where she had earlier spotted a large fallen log, and brushed some snow off so as to create a makeshift bench. Cullen sat beside her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and staring at his boots.

Evelyn sat with perfect posture, hands delicately folded in her lap, in a composure that was reserved more for visiting dignitaries than it was for comforting a fellow hurting soul. It was a reflex for her; this man was the commander of the Inquisition's forces, and she figured she must be formal and make a good impression. Her eyes fixated on the valley below, observing a few rams fruitlessly rummaging around in the snow for something to eat. It was not until she heard Cullen breath a heavy, wearisome sigh that she concluded she must probably be the first to speak. She took a glance to her left and saw the commander look like he was carrying the weight of the world upon his shoulders. At least she could empathize with the man.

She proffered him the kindest smile she could manage. "At least it's a nice day," she ventured politely.

"Hmm?" Cullen straightened up a bit, turning towards her with the confused expression of once again being dragged out of his thoughts by the woman beside him. Nice one Evie, she thought to herself.

"I just mean… you know, world ending and all that. At least the sun is shining."

"Ah, yes." Cullen turned his gaze away from her once more.

Evelyn pulled her lower lip through her teeth, straining against the agony she felt at not being able to say anything clever. This was unlike her. "When I left Ostwick for the Conclave, it was pouring rain something fierce. Perhaps it was an omen." She paused, but Cullen gave no reaction; maybe it was not the best tactic to go down the dark foreshadowing route. "Poor Shae was up to her haunches in mud. I didn't think she'd ever forgive me."

"Shae?" Cullen inquired.

"My horse. Pureblood Orlesian Courser. Bred and raised her myself," Evelyn smiled proudly. "They're fickle things, you know. It's the Orlesian blood. Can't stand to be dirty and love to be paraded about in finery. She was my best friend, though. Did anything I ever asked of her." Evelyn's eyes cast downward suddenly. Everything near the Conclave was lost… including Shae. "I'll miss the spoiled brat," she continued quietly, more to herself than Cullen.

She had intended to cheer the man up, but given the circumstances, it seemed every road of conversation led back towards despair. Her shoulders slumped forward slowly, and she resigned herself from then on to awkward silence until Cullen couldn't take it anymore and left her to climb back up her tree.

Evelyn was surprised, then, to hear Cullen continue the conversation. "So, Ostwick?" She turned to see him sitting straight and facing her. She smiled as a form of affirmation. "I was recruited to the Inquisition in Kirkwall, myself, but I am originally from Fereldan. Not too far from here, as a matter of fact."

"And are you glad to be back?"

Half of his thin lips curved upwards and he cast her an enticingly sarcastic smirk. "I have not found my homeland…particularly welcoming." Despite his words, his eyes glinted with mirth at the absurdity of their shared situation, and Evelyn knew exactly how he felt. She caught his gaze for a moment or two, then momentarily let her eyes wander down the sturdy bridge of his nose to his thin lips, pink from the cold; she followed his delicately healed scar down its length and observed the rough stubble that had grown along the hard line of his jaw. Cullen cleared his throat and she all but jumped.

"I believe they'll be expecting us in the Chantry soon," the commander observed, standing. "I shall see you there shortly, Lady Trevelyan." He gave her a small bow and turned to return down the path which he had first travelled.

Evelyn blinked once or twice and attempted to regain her composure. Had she just been caught ogling…?

Maker, but it had been a long day. Her eyes lifted to the heavens—it wasn't close to being over yet, either.


End file.
